


Don't Try to Save Me

by Muir_Wolf



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-01
Updated: 2011-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-14 07:12:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muir_Wolf/pseuds/Muir_Wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martha always makes the right choice, even when it hurts. The Doctor knows the feeling. Implied torture. They're kidnapped. Life goes downhill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Try to Save Me

  
**…I…**   


“I’m sorry,” he says when her eyes start to flutter open, when she takes in the vertigo of waking up standing up, when the pain registers in her wrists and she realizes she’s bound, arms above her head, and forces herself to her feet.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he looks older than she expected him to, and he’s chained to the wall not-quite-across from her, and there’s already a splendid bruise forming on his cheek, his shirt torn, blood matted in his hair.

“Not your fault,” she says, and it isn’t really, not in the traditional sense of the word, although Sybil, evil bitch extraordinaire, _is_ after the TARDIS, and he has in a vague sense dragged Martha back into the mix. In a sense. But it’s not his fault.

“Where are we?” she asks, because silly questions like _are you okay?_ can wait, since clearly neither of them are okay, and certainly won’t be for long given even the vague glimpse they’ve had into Sybil’s disposition in the form of the trail of battered bodies that led them to her.

“Same building, basement, I think,” he says, and she nods, because _of course_ they’d been trying for a bit of spy-work in her charity foundation and now that she thinks about it the last thing she does remember is entering the Toy Donation room.

“Jack?” she asks, because Jack had sort of been on this operation, in that he’d called them in, in that he flirted with them both, in that on more than one occasion he’d accidentally knocked Martha into the Doctor or vice versa.

“They shot him,” the Doctor says, and his voice sounds rough and upset so she lets out a startled gasp and hangs her head, letting her now-loose hair drape in front of her head as she scans for some form of video camera. _There. Left Corner._

“What do they want?” she asks, after a long moment, her voice sounding just the right touch of broken, just the right amount of fear.

“I want to know where the TARDIS is,” Sybil says, stepping into the room, dyed black hair swirling around her shoulders, eyes narrowed threateningly. Martha just looks at her.

“You killed Jack,” she says. “I’m not telling you anything.”  


Sybil snaps her fingers, and a large man enters. _Silent silent silent._

“I think,” Sybil, says, “I think you will actually tell me a great deal.”

“What do you want with it?” the Doctor asks, and she just looks at him.

“The most powerful item in the universe? What do you think I want with it? I want what you _Time Lords_ were too pathetic to seize. _I want everything._ ”

“You can’t have it,” the Doctor says, sneering, and she just looks at him.

“Eric,” she says, addressing the silent man. “Start with the girl.”

 

  
**…II…**   


 

Martha cries out, _again,_ and the Doctor forces himself to remain silent. They didn’t like it when he spoke. They didn’t like it at all.

Sybil shakes her head, looking irritated and disappointed and furious all in one go.

“You, _Doctor,_ last of the Time Lords, you won’t tell me, will you? You’ll let me kill you, you’ll let me kill your pretty companion, won’t you?”

“I can’t tell you where the TARDIS is,” the Doctor says, his eyes focused on the wall across from him, the metal chafing his wrists.

“But you, Martha Jones, you love the Doctor, don’t you? Don’t deny it, girl, it’s written all over your face,” Sybil sneers, and she looks like she’s just won something, she looks as if some great secret has just been exposed, some truth unearthed, as if she’s won what she wanted.

Martha cocks an eyebrow. “Do I look like I’m denying it?”

Sybil blinks, and frowns, looking between the two of them, looking at how the Doctor’s looking at Martha now, almost surprised, how Martha is looking at her, furious.

“Give me the location of the TARDIS, or I’ll kill your precious Doctor. Not just once, I know he’ll regenerate. You’ll stand there, and watch me kill him again and again until there’s nothing left of him.”

“Don’t give it to her,” the Doctor orders, and pleads, but neither look at him, neither look away from each other.

“You wouldn’t,” Martha says, voice steady. “He’s a Time Lord. You need him.”

“Without the TARDIS?” Sybil smiles. “He’s useless. I’ll kill him, Martha, I’ll kill the man you love. You can save him.”

“I can’t,” Martha says, but her voice is unsteady, and the Doctor closes his eyes in weary resignation.

“Save him,” Sybil orders, and Martha closes her eyes, breathes in, breathes out.

“Doctor,” she says, and her voice is the barest of whispers, and he forces himself to meet her eyes squarely, begging her with every inch of his body to not do what he’s certain she’s going to do. “Doctor,” she says, “I love you.”

“I know,” he says, and his voice is as rough as hers as his eyes scan her battered body, her bloodied lips. Her eyes meet his for an instant, and he’s shattered by her resolve, confused by the depths of sorrow in her eyes. She nods slowly, and then looks away, the motion almost as symbolic as it is physical.

“Kill him,” she says, and the Doctor looks at her, at the way she forces her chin up, at the way her voice is so steady and quiet when she says it, and he thinks, with surprise, that he could love this woman in front of him, who’s sentencing him to death despite the fact that it’s killing her, who’s saving the universe for everyone but the two of them there, barely even standing after the beating they’ve taken.

Sybil stares at her, completely unable to hide her shock. “What?”

“Kill him,” Martha repeats, and this time her voice sounds almost malicious, so filled with fury at the hand she’s been given.

“But…you love him,” Sybil says, as if the two things are mutually exclusive, as if she, of all people, knows anything about love. “You love him,” she repeats numbly.

“ _Oh yes,_ ” Martha says, her voice for the first time starting to sound shaky. “That’s why you have to kill him,” she says. “Can’t trade his life for the TARDIS, can’t trade his life for that of time itself. He’s a Time Lord, see, it’s his job to make sure it’s all ship-shape, and I can’t let him down, can I? Can’t give in, no matter how much I want to.” She can’t keep the tears from slipping down her cheeks, now, but she doesn’t really care, because she’s just sentenced the man she loves to die, and he’s just standing there smiling at her, as if he was happy, daft idiot.

“You little _bitch,_ ” Sybil snarls, backhanding her across the face. Martha turns back to her, forcing herself to stand up completely, spitting blood out in Sybil’s general direction.

“You’ve lost,” she says, and there’s glee in her voice, despite the fact that they all know Martha and her dear Doctor are about to die. “You’ve lost,” she repeats, louder, because it feels so good to say, and now she does smile, because she’s just discovered that she’s loads stronger than she thought she was, and hell, they’ve just saved the universe again, even if no one will ever know.

“I’m going to make you scream for _weeks,_ ” Sybil says, but Martha just flashes a smile at her, and the Doctor looks on, trying for amusement, suddenly half-destroyed at the thought of this woman, dead.

“Do you think, after all of this, after _not saving the man that I love,_ that you can do _anything_ to scare me?” she asks, amused, bitter, and completely honest. “There’s nothing else you can take from me.”

“You’ll suffer,” Sybil spits, and Martha shrugs.

“Undoubtedly,” she says. “But I won’t care.”

“Martha,” the Doctor says, and Sybil turns around, fire in her eyes.

“Don’t,” Martha half-begs, but it’s too late for that, far too late for any of it.

“Are you going to let her die for you?” Sybil asks, voice harsh, and the Doctor closes his eyes, but before he can answer Martha’s already speaking.

“You’re going to kill me anyway,” she says, and the Doctor looks up and meets her eyes squarely. Her jaw is clenched and her spine is almost painfully straight.

“ _Martha,_ ” he says, but she shakes her head.

“Don’t,” she says. “I’m not worth it, and you know it.”

“ _Martha,_ ” he says, this time pleading, but she isn’t looking at him, she’s looking at Sybil, and he can see the way she’s trying not to cry, not here, not now, so he falls silent. Words like _never,_ phrases like _everything to me,_ can wait. This isn’t the time.

“You’re going to let her die,” Sybil says, but this time it’s just disappointment and disgust that line her voice. “She loves you, and you’re going to let her die.”

“You’d change the path of history. You’d restructure time to suit your fancy.”

“But I could create a place for the two of you in it. A place where you could love and be happy and never be in pain,” Sybil says. “And you know I could. All you have to do is ask. All you have to do is _want._ ”

“What’s a world without pain?” Martha asks, trying for a smile, licking blood off of her lips.

“You know I can’t give you the TARDIS,” the Doctor says, but now his voice is soft. “Let her go.”

Sybil laughs.

“Martha Jones, defender of Time? _Let her go?_ Doctor, she wants to die for you! Who am I to deny her that privilege?”

“Please,” the Doctor says, and Sybil coos, leaning forward to trail a finger down his cheek. “ _Please,_ ” the Doctor whispers, and Sybil leans into him, until her body presses against his, until her lips hover over his.

“I’m going to paint your skin with her blood,” she says, before pressing her mouth to his. He tries to shrug away but he’s up against a wall, and when she pulls back she’s laughing.

“Did you ever even kiss her?” she asks, and he closes his eyes, remembering the moment, the fear and courage in her eyes, the adrenaline pumping through his veins…

“Once,” he says.

“It was enough,” Martha says, looking at him fondly now, hiding the mingled fear and anger at Sybil’s presumption, at _her Doctor_ at Sybil’s mercy. He can still see it, can still see the emotion rolling around her eyes just as he could all those months ago.

“Enough,” Sybil says, eyes darkening, “To get you through this? Enough to have him watch me hurt you and stay silent?”

“I’d only known him a little while, but the thought of him dead…I was terrified, and I’ve never felt so alone, and I didn’t know what to do. But now? This? You think seeing him _alive_ in front of me will hurt?”

“If he had a heart, it’d hurt him,” Sybil says, and Martha laughs literally out loud.

“He has more heart than you know,” she says, between gasps for air, between the giggles that keep breaking out despite the fact that the humor of the situation is fading fast.

Sybil hits her, hard, and she can’t help the little cry that escapes. She blinks rapidly, and tries to keep her face impassive.

“You could save her,” Sybil says.

“I’m sorry,” the Doctor whispers, and Martha looks at him, skims her eyes across his lanky frame.

“I know,” she says, and then she looks away, but he can still see the tears slipping down her cheeks, the way her _whitewhite_ teeth bit her bottom lip.

Eric hits her, again, and she cries out and closes her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” the Doctor breathes, but she doesn’t hear.

Or she doesn’t answer.

 

  
**…III…**   


 

Jack rescues them, as Jack is prone to doing, as the Doctor is prone to needing him to do. The Doctor can hear the yelling and gunshots and the recognizable cursing of his American friend, but he can’t tear his eyes away from Martha, unconscious, Martha, bleeding, Martha, silent where she should be bubbling over with life.

If Sybil were still in the room, she’d have killed Martha just to spite him, so it’s good that she’s not, although right about now he’d really have appreciated seeing her death for himself.

He’s not used to thinking things like that.

He’s not used to feeling things like this.

Before he can spend too much time considering matters, the door blasts (literally) open, and Jack stands in the doorway, disheveled and bloodied and worried and—

He pushes the button to close the blast doors, shots impacting with them as they slam shut.

The Doctor barely manages to tear his eyes away from Martha.

Jack spares a glance towards the Doctor (and there was a time when Jack would’ve run to the Doctor’s side, no matter who else was there, no matter how much they needed him) but once his eyes fall upon Martha, head sagging, held up only by the chains that are cutting into the flesh of her wrists, he’s by her side, pulling her up, crooning her name over and over again.

“Doctor!” Jack yells, sparing a terrified look at him.

“The keys are on the table,” the Doctor says, and he’s too quiet, too resigned, and Jack knows that something’s wrong but there is no _time_. Ten seconds later and Jack’s unchaining Martha. She slumps into his arms, and he carefully lays her down, spares a half-second to look her over before running and freeing the Doctor.

“What happened?” he asks tersely, eyes returning to their battered Martha.

“She told them to kill me,” the Doctor breathes, and while Jack looks between the two of them in utter confusion, the Doctor crouches down next to Martha.

“I’ve got her, you’re hurt,” Jack says, but the Doctor shakes his head and picks her up, cradling her in his arms.

“Get us home,” he whispers, and Jack nods, full of questions but for the moment solely determined to get them all somewhere safe.

 

  
**…IV…**   


 

“I’m sorry,” she says, as soon as her eyes have fluttered open, as soon as she realizes they’re no longer trapped, as soon as she sees the Doctor hovering above her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do.”

She’s lying on a table, in what looks to be some sort of medical facility. Jack’s on her right side. The Doctor’s standing too close on her left. She hurts, but everything is separated by a sort of cotton ball haze, so she knows she’s been given something to ease the pain and that’s just worrying.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, except the Doctor is saying something, the Doctor is saying something over and over again and—

“ _Martha,_ ” he says, hand cool around hers, “ _Martha, Martha, Martha…_ ”

“You okay?” she asks, and his fingers tighten on hers. To her left Jack lets out a startled snort of laughter.

She smiles brilliantly up at them. “Jack!”

“Hey gorgeous,” he says, managing a smile back.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” she says, and her bottom lip trembles a bit and before Jack can say a word the Doctor’s leans over and grabs hold of her carefully, so that she’s encircled by his arms, so that she can feel the steady double-beat of his hearts against hers.

“You did good,” he whispers into her ear, and Jack looks at them thoughtfully, at the way Martha hides her face against the Doctor’s neck, at the way the Doctor keeps up a soft litany of comforting words.

The Doctor pulls back when Martha’s finally fallen asleep, and Jack looks at him, silent, because the play of emotions of his face is begging for silence, begging for understanding.

“Stay with her?” the Doctor asks, and his voice is ragged, and Jack nods, and the Doctor walks away.

 

  
**…V…**   


 

“Hey,” she says. She’s been given clearance to walk around the ship, although the Doctor (ha, Doctor) ordered _absolutely no mad-cap adventures or otherwise running_ which she’s pretty eager to enforce. But the Doctor, despite the over-bubbly nature the last few days, has been avoiding her, and she thinks it’s about time to clear the air.

“Hello,” he says, from where he’s sitting on the floor in the control room, slumped against the wall. His eyes flicker to her and on anyone else she’d think she’d just seen guilt.

“We need to talk,” she says, forcing herself to be strong, walking over and carefully sitting down next to him. He nods, with a sort of tired resignation, and she blinks, before shrugging any misgivings away.

“About what happened…what I said…” she starts, suddenly hesitant, and his eyes flicker away from her, scan the room, slowly dart back.

“You want to go home,” he says, sounding worn out. She blinks, startled.

“ _What?_ No!” And then with a sudden worried frown, “Or…do you want me to go home? I mean, if you want me to I’ll go I just—”

“ _What?_ No!’ he says, confused. They stare rather blankly at each other.

“I just wanted to apologize for putting you in that awkward spot, feelings-wise, and wanted to promise you it wouldn’t come up again. Oh, and apologize for the whole ‘Kill him’ thing, too. But I didn’t know what else to do, and I couldn’t…”

“You did the right thing,” he says. He wipes his mouth with the back of hand thoughtfully. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t stop her,” he says. “I should’ve…”

“Hang on,” she says. “She was torturing us. There’s not a whole lot you could’ve done.”

“You don’t want to go home?” he asks, and she frowns.

“Do you want me to?”

“No,” he says. No hesitation. She looks at him, surprised and the littlest bit satisfied.

“Then I’ll stay,” she says. He nods slowly, and then grins.

“Right,” he says. He puts out a hand to shake, and when she gives him hers, he instead pulls her towards him, and kisses her unexpectedly on the lips. He’s soft and tender and she forces herself to pull away, looking at him like a deer in the headlights.

“ _What?_ ” she asks, trying to gesture only to find that her hand is still in his. He doesn’t let go.

“Sybil had a point,” he says. “One time? And then she kissed me, and can’t have _that_ being the last time I’ve kissed someone. She had frog lips.”

“Frog lips?” Martha asks, sounding slightly befuddled.

“You’ve got nice lips,” the Doctor says, tilting his head to the side consideringly.

“I do? I—Doctor! No, I’m not having any of your nonsense, or bloody _gratitude,_ and I don’t appreciate—”

“What?” he asks, looking at her innocently. “It was platonic. Well…not really. Well, she got me thinking and that really was a nice kiss we had on the moon.”

“ _Doctor,_ ” she says, eyes narrowing, tugging at her hand. He doesn’t let go.

“It was though. And do you know, I had this oddest sensation in the pit of my stomach when I saw ol’ Shakespeare trying to kiss you? And I’ve been thinking and it could’ve been jealousy.”

“Doctor,” she says, and her voice is practically pleading, because he shouldn’t be doing this, because this is just _cruel_ and alien or not he should know better and—

“And do you know, I can always trust you to do the right thing? You risk so much, just because you should, just because you _can,_ really, because you can help—”

“Doctor, _don’t,_ ” she says.

“I want you to know, what you said? You’re worth everything, _Martha Jones_. You couldn’t live with the universe destroyed, but I was tempted, Martha, and I’m not ever tempted, I do the right thing and destroy the people around me, but I was tempted to save you, because I’m tired of you being hurt for what’s right, because I can’t take you thinking you aren’t worth _everything._ ”

“Doctor,” she says, but her voice is soft, now, and when he looks closely he can see the tears swimming in her eyes, and he grins slightly, hoping to cheer her up, hoping to make things right for once.

“Now, I was planning on giving you a speech about me taking things slowly, because I’m not used to this, but do you know I’m almost inclined to chuck it and have my wicked way with you?” he says, eyebrows wiggling. She rolls her eyes.

“Doctor,” she says, scrubbing her face with her free hand, running it haphazardly through her hair.

He stops talking. Pouts slightly. She sighs.

“You don’t have to do this,” she says. “I’m not leaving. You have nothing to apologize for. I’m not fifteen.”

“Look,” he says, frowning. “People choose me instead of choosing the right thing to do, and they say it’s because they love me but really they can’t bear to have me die, and you just saved the whole universe, _Martha Jones,_ so pardon me if I find myself with an unexpected crush.”

“Doctor,” she says, shaking her head, and she’s crying now, little tears sliding silently from her eyes, and he squeezes her hand, wipes the tears with his other.

“Bollocks,” he says. “I’ve done this all wrong, haven’t I? I just…you were so fiery and fierce standing there, standing up to her, and I couldn’t do a thing to help you, not without destroying everyone, and we’d never be happy like that, and you knew it, and I was so afraid I was going to lose you, and then so afraid you were going to leave before I could tell you, and I just—we couldn’t be happy that way, but maybe we could be happy another, maybe we could…”

“Doctor,” she says, smiling slightly at his babbling, at the way his hand still hasn’t let go of hers. “Doctor, you did it the right way. I just…”

“I think I might love you,” he says, and the look in his eyes, the way his thumb caresses the back of her hand, the way he’d begged Sybil to let her go, the way he’d asked if she was leaving, the way he’d kissed her, makes her pause, makes her hold her breath, makes her eyes trace the features in his face, looking for an answer.

“Do you know…” she says, her voice barely making it out of her throat, “Do you know, I think you might be being honest.”

“I am,” he says, with such conviction, such decision in his voice that she looks at him right in the eyes.

“ _Doctor,_ ” she says, somewhere between a frown and shock, “Doctor, this isn’t about—”

“Nope,” he says.

“And you aren’t just—”

“Nope.”

“And you really—”

“Yep,” he says, making the word pop. She frowns, and then smiles, and then frowns again.

“But you—and then—and she—and you said—”

“When you’ve finished talking, are you going to kiss me?” the Doctor cuts in, looking at her intensely. She half-laughs, and then nods. “Right,” he says. “The talking can wait.”

“Oh you romantic, you,” she says, laughing.

Jack, watching from the hallway, nods in agreement, smiling, and then walks away.

 

  
_Finis_   



End file.
